


Room 200

by Fuffywumple



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Max lives in Seattle, New to Blackwell, One-Shot, Short Story, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuffywumple/pseuds/Fuffywumple
Summary: Max has lived in Seattle all her life, her admission into Blackwell Academy is a new chance to prove herself to the world; and most importantly, her family's overgrowing debt. She has no intent of messing around at Blackwell, but when she meets an enigmatic blue haired punk, her life is about to get turned upside down.





	Room 200

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! This was just a short idea I had while I was bored in class :p, it very well could be expanded into a entire novel, but with everything I'm currently working on, it would have to wait until I'm free enough to handle it.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy reading!

I can’t believe I’m actually here, I’m actually at Blackwell Academy. Getting the admission letter was so surreal, and being here is even more so. I mean, sure, there are a lot of fancy schools back home in Seattle, but Blackwell Academy has one of the best photography courses in the country. Not to mention that it’s taught by  _ the _ Mark Jefferson, I think I’m going to faint. The heavy box in my arms doesn’t help, it’s one of many boxes stuffed with my belongings, I know the others will come as I get settled in, but I wanted to get a lot of my more important things here with me as soon as I could.

 

When I step into the girl’s dormitory building, it’s really quiet. There is no one in the hall, and every door is closed, no noises come from within them, not even any voices or conversations. I guess it is pretty early yet, classes don’t start until next week, some people just choose to show up later than others. I make my way through the hall, remembering what dorm assignment I had written on my schedule before I came down here.

 

That’s my dorm number, room 220. I stare at the wooden door, my box of belongings awkwardly cradled in my arms. It’s the very last dorm in this section of the building, huddled in the far corner of the hall. My arms feel weak from the weight of the box, but I can’t will myself to go in, so I continue to stare. This is my first day of Blackwell, the first day of the rest of my life, so I know I need to start it out right. 

 

Shuffling the heavy box under one arm, I use my other hand to open the door to my very own dorm room. The sun is almost completely set outside, so I can’t quite make out a lot of the details upon first glance, my vision eventually adjusts to the partial darkness. I don’t know what I was even expecting, maybe some run down room with bad lighting, or the total opposite, some fancy room with carpets and a TV, or even a private bathroom.

 

What I’m not expecting, is another girl to be laying in my bed. The mattress is pressed up against the right wall, directly opposite of a leather couch that has been picked at for what looks like years. The girl is laying perpendicular on top of the covers, her head pressed against the wall, whereas her legs are dangling off the side of the bed. I’m so startled by the sight of her, that I almost drop the box that is under my arm, a gasp comes from me as I catch it.

 

The girl shoots up in response to my gasp, just noticing that I’m here. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, rubbing her eyes. Now that I have a better view of her, I can see that she’s a total punk. Her hair is light blue, capped off by a darker blue beanie; her brown jacket cuts off just before her wrist, and a tattoo peeks out from under the material. She’s very intimidating, and I feel myself step back, just to create some distance between us. She doesn’t seem to notice. I realize that I’ve been silent, and the punk is still waiting for an answer.

Stammering, I try to speak. “This… is my room.” I say, my voice is almost a whisper. The punk steps towards me, and I fight the urge to step back further.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” She says, with a surprising gentleness. Her head is tilted to the side like a curious bird, and her hair waves from the slight momentum of moving her neck. She’s standing almost right in front of me, her ice blue eyes are so much more intimidating up close, why does she scare me so much?

 

Clearing my throat, I force my voice to be firm when I speak again, “this is my room.”

 

The girl furrows her brow in confusion. “This has been my room since I started here.” She says, gesturing to the room around us, then she turns back to me, “you must be mistaken.”

 

Eager to prove that I’m right, I set the heavy box at my feet, creating somewhat of a barrier between me and the girl, then I dig in my pocket for the paper that has my schedule and dorm assignment. The punk girl completely ignores the box barrier I made between us, she walks around it until her chest is almost bumping my shoulder. With shaking fingers, I pull out the folded paper, and present it to the patient girl.

 

She takes it with blue painted fingernails, unfolding it without caring for how neat it was folded before, the paper crinkles under her probing. I notice the way her eyes scan over the paper, eyebrows twitching when she sees something interesting, and I know she’s not just looking at my dorm number, which is in the top right corner.

 

My schedule for this first semester is pretty insane, from Advanced Placement English, to photography, I’ll be able to keep myself busy with school work long enough to avoid having to go to social gatherings. I know mom said she wanted me to ‘get out there’ and make new friends, but it’s a lot easier said than done. At least now I have an excuse not to do it.

 

When she’s done snooping through my schedule, the punk hands my paper back to me. “That says 219, bub. You’re across the hall.”

 

I snatch the paper back from her. “What?” 

 

The punk ignores my mortification, she just picks at her teeth with her pinkie fingernail, “yup.” She confirms, the word is a little distorted around her finger.

 

I cannot believe this, I’ve been here for less than ten minutes, and I’ve already managed to embarrass myself. That’s a new record. I grab the cardboard box from the floor, my cheeks hot from embarrassment. This girl probably thinks I’m some kind of idiot. Way to go, Max. I don’t even know why I care about what this stranger thinks about me, I really shouldn’t, but for some reason I really want to impress her, and this isn’t the way to do that. I clutch the box to my chest, ready to storm out.

 

Finally seeing how distraught I am, the punk girl tries to break the tension, to my mercy. She laughs, a deep sound that makes my chest warm. “Don’t worry about it, bub.” She says, “first day, huh?” I nod, trying to keep a stable grip on the box in my hands.

 

The punk gives me a sympathetic look, “been there, trust me.” I’m not sure if I’m comforted by that or not, so I flash her an awkward smile, and use my knee to stable the box so I don’t drop it. A kind of awkward silence falls on us, and instead of leaving, I take the time to survey her room. No wonder why I thought it was uninhabited, there’s barely any decorations. The sheets on her bed are gray and drab, and there is a single poster on the wall, depicting a half naked woman. Is she even allowed that in here? It makes my stomach churn, and I have no idea why. Probably because I’m a total prude.

 

Really, the only character this room has is the clothes that are strewn on the floor, some in messy piles instead of the laundry hamper that is stuffed in the far corner. I can’t tell if all the clothes are all dirty or not. The punk catches my wandering gaze, and rubs the back of her neck. “Heh, haven’t had much time to decorate yet” She says, and she looks shameful, like she’s being scrutinized. A girl as punk rock as her has no place looking vulnerable, it kind of makes me feel less nervous.

 

I look up at her, she’s still standing too close… “Didn’t you say you’ve always been here?” I ask.

 

Punk girl looks surprised that I remembered. “Well, yeah, but I always go home during the summer.” She says, her words bitter.

 

I frown. “Where are you from?” I ask, before I can stop myself. Come on, Max. You just met this girl, don’t scare her away by bombarding her with questions. I’ve always been too nosey for my own good... Unless this is what you’re supposed to do when you meet new people, because how else are you supposed to find out more about them?

 

The punk doesn’t even bat an eye at the question. “Oh, I’ve lived here my whole life. I just can’t stand to live with my mom, and Step-Freak.” She says, then grimaces, “uh, step-father.”

 

I don’t reply, with no intent to probe further.

 

The girl clears her throat, “how ‘bout you?” She asks, “where are you from, Newbie?”

 

“Oh, I just moved here from, uh, Seattle.” I say, and what a challenging time it’s been. Seattle has been the only home I’ve ever known, and travelling was something I really couldn’t afford to do, because both of my parents didn’t have the best of jobs. We thought about moving from Seattle so many times, it was too big of a place for our family, which was slowly crawling into debt, but we just couldn’t afford to up and relocate, not with the current economy.

 

That’s why Blackwell is such a huge deal to me, when I got accepted, I knew that there would be a huge enrollment fee involved, which there is, so I almost rejected the offer entirely. My parents were insistent, though, telling me to chase my dreams. I’m just lucky that Blackwell offers financial aid to students who need it most.

 

Yeah, I still feel guilty for taking the offer, and how much fees there are attached to my schooling here, but that only drives my need to succeed further. I’m not at Blackwell to mess around, I need to do good here so I can help my parents pay back what we’ve lost.

 

The punk girl laughs again, “big city girl stuck in little old Arcadia Bay, huh?” She says.

 

I feel my cheeks flush, does she think I hate it here, just because I’m from Seattle? Oh no, am I radiating big city vibes? The last thing I want is to be known as that prissy girl from the big city. “W-what? No, I-” 

 

“Relax, I’m kiddin’ with ya.” The punk girl interrupts, giving my shoulder a playful shove. I almost drop the box in my arms, struggling to keep hold of it.

 

“Shit, sorry.” The punk girl apologizes, “you can set the box down right there.”

 

I stare at her as she walks back to her bed, laying on it in an awkward position, with her forearms propped up as support. It looks really uncomfortable, but she looks at peace nonetheless. Is she asking me to stay in here with her? She’s so nonchalant about it, too. Instead of looking to me for an answer, she is glancing around the room, as if she has never seen it before. I stand there uselessly, and she’s not even bothered by it. Am I supposed to stay in here with her? I mean, she did offer, but I quite literally just met this girl, I don’t even know her name. 

 

Conflicting parts of me fight over what I should do. I want to stay, and make my first friend at Blackwell, because I know the stress will be so much worse if I tackle everything on alone, but I don’t have time to socialize and hang out with people when I’m trying to get the best grades. I don’t want this girl to get the wrong message, I’m here to excel in my classes.

 

“I should probably get back to my room.” I say, and when the punk looks back at me, I rush to finish. “Just so I can get settled in ASAP, you know?”

 

The punk smirks, her eyes analyzing my body, I fight the urge to cover myself up with the box. “Sure thing, bub.” She says, eyes on my hoodie.

 

“My name is Max.” I say, mostly because I don’t like being called ‘bub.’

 

“Right, right.” The punk nods, “I’m Chloe.”

 

I think I just made my first friend at Blackwell. I know I shouldn’t be happy about that, and I shouldn’t make a habit out of this, but I’m still happy about it. Who knows, having friends could even help me in my classes, give me opportunities for study partners, or I’m just making up false hopes to cover up the big mistake I just made. I guess I’ll find out over time. I muster up a smile at her, despite all the nerves bouncing around my body. Chloe seems charmed by it, replying with a toothy grin of her own.

 

“Um, bye.” I say, as I back out of Chloe’s room.

 

“See you around, Max.” Chloe responds, and I hope it’s a promise.

 

It takes me about 3 steps to get to my dorm room, diagonal from Chloe’s. I left her door open when I left, so from the front of my dorm room, I can see her laying perpendicular on her bed, eyes closed with no cares in the world. I get so caught up in looking at her, that I try to walk into my unopened dorm room, and smack into the door. Glancing around, I’m relieved that no one saw that.

 

I use the wall as support for the cardboard box as I open the door to my actual room, though I make sure to open it with care, encase there are other girls laying on my bed, but I’m greeted to an empty room. My room. On my way in, I flick on the bright light.

 

The room as all the same furniture as Chloe’s does, but the layout is inverted. My bed is pressed against the right wall, pillows closest to the door, and my couch is on the left wall, leaving a little bit of space to let me reach an empty closet which makes up the left wall beside me. My shoes crunch on the carpet when I walk to my bed, finally getting to set down the heavy box that made my arms weak. I probably should have packed less stuff in it, but I wanted to have all the essentials with me as soon as I got here.

 

I start with the bigger stuff, setting my laptop on the desk that is pressed against the far brick wall, my pre-folded blankets and sheets get set on the bed for now, I’ll make it up before I go to sleep, which should be soon. I’m not sure how easy it will be to sleep tonight, but I’ll try.

 

In the meantime, though, I pull out a shoebox from the bottom of my belongings, and some sticky tack to go with it. Inside the shoebox are various polaroid photos taken by yours truly, all the ones I’m the most confident about, or the ones with matching aesthetics. It won’t be like home until I put my photos up, so I start putting them up on the wall along my bed. I plan out where every photo is placed, so that when I’m done, the wall is a beautiful mandala of my photographs. Stepping back to admire my work, I sigh. It isn’t home, but I can make it work anyway. I’m ready for the newest chapter of my life.

 


End file.
